


If You Could Only Read My Mind

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 15:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21460030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Lydia wants power; what she's got is Todd.
Relationships: Todd Alquist/Lydia Rodarte-Quayle
Kudos: 13





	If You Could Only Read My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't make any money from this, and I don't own Breaking Bad.
> 
> A/N: Title is from "Want You Bad" by the Offspring.

Lydia stared across the table at her... business associate? It had been easier to make term palatable with Gus, who really was unceasingly businesslike, or even Mike.   
Neither of them had looked at her with open-mouth slack-jawed want like a horny teenager, but Todd wasn’t much older than one anyway, was he now? 

And as long as the supply chain kept going, what harm could it do? This was the meth business, not the question and answer portion of a sexual harassment seminar. 

No, Todd’s way-too-obvious attraction to her was not the issue here. It was the fact that she could tell that if she tapped that well, it was going to be lukewarm at best.   
Gus’ other interests had been apparent, but that hadn’t stopped Lydia from noticing the dominance in every snap of his finger, every look in his eyes. 

Walt, too, gruff and headstrong and impassioned. 

Even Mike - well clearly there was something there since she got the vibe that he had been married at least twice.   
But no, this was what she had. Todd, looking up at her with expectation, like this would turn into The Graduate - though he was likely only one of the local penitentiary.

Then again, desperate times called for desperate measures, didn’t they? It had been awhile, to put it in a vulgar fashion. She had been hoping that Walt would catch her signals, that maybe they could take a trip to the Czech Republic together. Relax in a gorgeous Prague hotel, see the sights, and have some impassioned yet dignified satisfaction in a five-star hotel.

Instead, he had run off to who-knows-where and her consolation prize, about as appealing as a year’s supply of trash bags, was Todd.

She ran her finger along the side of the teacup. There were benefits, after all. Having Todd on her side and happy meant that Jack’s group stayed on her side too, and that was a benefit. 

Objectively, she had probably had worse sex than she would be having with Todd. If she decided to take him up on that. She had also, of course, had better sex.

Images of Walt came up unbidden. Black sand on a beach, the wind in her hair, walking side by side. Civilized.

“What are you doing after this?”

This could backfire, of course. She remembered reading The Collector. Miranda had been Frederick’s perfect woman… up until she had actually slept with him. Then he had thought she was just a whore and let her die.

***

The overarching color of the hotel room was blue. A baby blue that was such an eyesore that Lydia wished she had pulled the plug on the place even after she had paid for the weekend.

But no other options were appealing – it wasn’t as if she could invite Todd into her home, the way she had with Gus (it had seemed normal, appropriate, with him).  
The way she could have with Walt, if things had been different.

She dimmed the lights.

She thought of those old-timers laying back and thinking of England. Lay back and think of the Czech Republic, she thought to herself. Lay back and think of spread sheets and money to be made, flights to be taken. Successes.

For she would always be successful, in the end. She could even be successful with him. Maybe she needed a clicker; she could throw Snausages in his mouth whenever he did something right. 

She unbuttoned her own coat – blue, a nice crisp dark blue, button, button, hang it on the chair nice and neatly. She could keep it locked in tight, keep her mind far away. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

“Come here, Todd.” She snapped her fingers and he jumped up on the bed. Good boy – she nearly said it; maybe she could make him bark for her. That, finally, seemed to begin to make her tingle, made her begin to realize some of the things she could get him to do for her.

Maybe he would do anything for her.

She curled her fingers in her skirt and pulled it back with a low moan. 

“Todd, this is where you need to put your mouth, before you do anything else.” She knotted his hands in the blonde hair – it felt like grass under her touch, maybe even with an odd touch of dew – and pulled him downward, put him in position. “Well, don’t just ogle at it. Get your tongue moving!” If she had been in a less awkward position, she could have kicked him, or slapped him in the head, but it just wasn’t possible, and that realization made her feel much more vulnerable than she wanted to be. Not here, not with him, never again.

It didn’t do to be vulnerable around men, not ones that were so unpredictable. She had learned that a long time ago.  
Whatever Todd was attempting to do down there, it wasn’t working. He was doing something akin to a golden retriever licking someone in the face, though this one would be rabid.

“Todd, ugh,” Lydia groaned, pushing him away. “I have a lot to teach you about where the clit is.”

“Where the what is?”

Lydia wondered what she had done to have deserved this. Why had she even come here in the first place?

“Have you even been with a woman before?” she snapped.

“Well, I have! Of course. I have.”

Lydia eyed him with a glance that dared him to keep lying, and he met it with a shrug. 

“I mean, there were some girls back when I was in middle school, and we got all the way to second base.”

Lydia did not want to know exactly what Todd considered second base to be. 

She pulled back and pulled her legs together and kicked them over the bed with a sigh.

“You’re going to have to follow my instructions to the letter.”

“Well… Yes, Miss Lydia. I’d be glad to.”

“Then stand up. I have a few things to show you in my wardrobe.”

***

She spent the better part of an hour dressing and redressing him, desperately trying to figure out what, if anything, made him look like anything more than a flaky pile of sunburned pimples. Something he could wear if they ever needed to be seen together in public one day. Wouldn’t that be a laugh? They would probably assume that she was his mother.

“And then you tie it like so,” she instructed, pulling the blue tie through its little knot. 

“How do I look? Do I look… official?”

She cocked her head to the side.

“You could clean up nicely.”

In her mind, she pictured Walt, she pictured Gus.

Gus was dead and Walt was a thing of the past.

A makeover could work wonders, couldn’t it? Maybe she could make a man, if given enough time.

“You could clean up quite nicely indeed.”


End file.
